"And where?"
"Now you're asking questions, hey?" said Wacker, with a cunning air. "You tell me first: do you know the fellow who made that puzzle?"
"What's his name?" asked Frank.
"Dick Welmore."
"Never heard of him."
"Aha!" cried Dale Wacker triumphantly, "then I've got you. I say, young fellow, you're violating the law, you are. See here, I'm hard up. I know where Dick Welmore is snug and tight. If you don't make it worth my while, I'll go to him and have you prosecuted for stealing his invention."
"Get out of here," cried Frank, with flashing eyes.
"Hold on, now. Say, give me a job, and I'll keep mum. Say, I can write a good hand. Once I took stock, see—"
"Yes, I reckon you've taken stock to your cost, if what I hear is true. March out, and it won't be healthy for you to come around here again."
"I can make you trouble."
"Try it."
Frank gave Wacker a decided push through the open doorway. Wacker was muttering under his breath all kinds of dire threats.
